Jazz saxophonist Jimmy Heath is one of the last living legends to reign in the Bop and Hard Bop era. An arranger and composer as well, he's been wildly prolific since he began recording in 1948, both as a sideman and leader. Original Jazz Classics' compilation, Nice People, is a great introduction to not only Heath's music, but the era itself, with tracks featuring a who's who of mid-century jazz.

A member of one of jazz's royal families, Heath grew up with brothers Percy, a bassist, and drummer Albert "Tootie" Heath. Albert is the drummer on most of the tracks and Percy shares the bass chair with Paul Chambers.

Heath started his career playing alto sax, but after earning the nickname "Little Bird" due to his stylistic similarity to Charlie "Bird" Parker, he switched to the tenor. Nice People covers his most prolific period, from 1959-1964 when he was recording for Riverside.

The collection opens with the title cut, a bop gem written to the changes of "Indiana," like Miles Davis' "Donna Lee." A 3-horn arrangement with Nat Adderley on cornet, it opens with a hard swinging intro by under-appreciated pianist Wynton Kelly and just picks up more steam as it bounces along.

"The Picture Of Heath" is from 1960's Really Big, his big band release. Not exactly a big band but you'd never know it was only a tentet from the sound of the all-star horns that join Heath -- Adderley, Clark Terry, Pat Patrick on bari, trombonist Tom McIntosh and Dick Berg on French horn. Calling them tight doesn't begin to do justice to this dream team horn section.

And the pianists on this compilation? Wow. Along with Kelly, there's Cedar Walton, Harold Mabern, Tommy Flanagan and a young guy you may have heard of, Herbie Hancock. Trumpeters Donald Byrd and Freddie Hubbard are also featured, as is guitarist Kenny Burrell. This is the pantheon of the bop era, and it just doesn't get any bigger or better.

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OMG. Little Richard, the Architect of Rock 'n' Roll, is back, and sounding better than ever. Here's Little Richard, his game-changing debut album for Specialty Records, is now beautifully remastered, and enriched for CD with significant bonus material and an illuminating essay by Lee Hildebrand.

Once more, the man whose LPs I used to play at top volume to drive my mother out of the house is whooping it up, hollering, and having a ball. As Little Richard sings "Tutti Frutti," "Ready Teddy," "Long Tall Sally," and the other classics he recorded in 1955 and 1956, it's impossible not to be caught up by his youthful, all-barrels-loaded energy. The lyrics may be repetitive, and the piano's even-eight-note patterns very even indeed, but Little Richard's seemingly boundless elation gives notice that a new music is about seize and transform entire generations of listeners in ways their mothers warned them about.

Eventually, it was Little Richard who heeded the warning. In October 1957, after cutting his final track for Specialty Records, the great man threw in the towel for the Gospel, and gave rock 'n' roll up for God. His renunciation didn't last long. You may have seen his later appearances on TV, including the most recent, the 78-year old's wheelchair-bound 2011 performance on the nationally televised "A Capitol Fourth." But to hear him in his early-20s prime, with every falsetto yelp, raspy hoot, and high-flying holler intact, you must hear Here's Little Richard.

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If folk forefather Woody Guthrie were alive today, he would certainly be a Record Store Day enthusiast. And one senses that he would be pleased with Farrar/Johnson/Parker/Yames' interpretation of his music on the exclusive, 10" vinyl Rounder release Let's Multiply, commemorating the annual occasion when music lovers gather at record stores for live performances and a celebration of all things musical. (This year on Saturday, April 21.)

The modern-day troubadour supergroup Jay Farrar (Son Volt), Will Johnson (Centro-matic), Anders Parker (Varvaline), and Yim Yames (My Morning Jacket) recently released another Guthrie collection, New Multitudes. They tastefully curate a set of four Guthrie songs on Let's Multiply that is long on intimacy and craft and manages to perfectly capture the yearning that marked much of Guthrie's songwriting. On opening track "Freedom's Fire" the band wrangles and jangles around Guthrie's heartfelt lyrics and expands the instrumentation with a keen sense of the song's spare honesty. The unreleased demo of "Talking Empty Bed Blues" carries on in this vein, with echoing, empty-room vocals that sum up the song's lonely theme.

It's not until "Healing Hand" do the amplifiers come alive, although even plugged in the band somehow manages to preserve Guthrie's homespun, acoustic sound. It's the most rocking song on the album and a nice punctuation to the otherwise hushed tones marking the other tunes. And none are more hushed and haunting than "Chorine My Sheba Queen," another never-before-released demo that will stick with you long after it's over.

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How much better can it get than Telarc's special four-CD box set, The Essential Richard Strauss? Here is some of the greatest music Strauss ever wrote, performed by the glorious Vienna Philharmonic under André Previn. Recorded in the fabled acoustic of the Musikvereinsall, and released between 1988 and 1991, the recordings are classic examples of Telarc's early accomplishments in the digital domain.

The repertoire extends over an astounding 59 years, from the early tone poem, Don Juan, Op. 20 (1889) through the glorious farewell, the Four Last Songs (1948). In between came the other great tone poems, of which the set includes Also sprach Zarathustra, Op. 30 (1896); Don Quixote, Op. 35 (Fantastic Variations on a Theme of Knightly Character, 1898); and Ein Heldenleben, Op. 40 (1899).

Equally thematic, albeit longer in duration, is the last tone poem, The Alpine Symphony, Op. 64 (1915). With a score that calls for a huge orchestra complete with cowbells and a wind machine, Ein Alpensinfonie has met with skepticism on the part of those who have refused to succumb to its glorious, truly climactic climaxes. It may be overly literal, even a bit schmaltzy, but how often does literal also qualify as transcendent?

Composing came slower to Strauss toward the end of his life, but inspiration remained undimmed. Proof lies in the Four Last Songs, which he did not live to hear premiered. Arleen Auger, one of America's finest sopranos of the late 20th century, sings them beautifully, with rare emotional chasteness.

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